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we dedicate this yearbook to the poet 

And each in his youth should be as the poet 
In his old age. And pen the simple rhyme of life 
And love with trembling hands; so that when 
Time bleeds dead and stains the earth with sounds 
Of word and thought, yours will lie as open wounds. 
And each in his old age should be as the poet 
In his youth. And know then what the poet knows: 
To be lonely with your heart. 

we dedicate this yearbook to the poet 

group of buoys began a romp on waves of foam and flew and died as the 
waves. The moon in the sky drifted alone and lonely in that sky and saw 
the navy blue and colored sky and mourned with winds that bellowed the 
sea and rushed the sand and shifted the sea. Again I saw the freighter 
straddled against the horizon leaving no place for seagulls, cloud and mist 
to stay and be as portraits of the sea. So I stayed awhile watching 



six times the bell would ring and I would leave the sound to move at 
will, allow a grey and darkened wall to soak the sound and swallow 
the sound into mortar and rotted wood, and I would hear the sound, 
the dying din, sink slowly into silence silence. And there would be 
time for me to hear the gentle morning moisture rock the sand and 
lift the sea. So I would walk a while, tracing the surf with a bare 
foot and sometimes, while sitting and watching the sun, I would try to 
remember other things. The evening before, I had waited for a time, 
looking at the shadow of a freighter vessel rocking with the sea. A 

fantasy and fabulous come naked as the myth of night stripped down 
to flesh and taut limb, and lay softly in the sand. And I saw one boy 
walk patiently on soaking sand; he held a stick and traced the life line 
of the sea, the ripple on the beach he counted as the vein of tears and 
dark moss gardens hidden deep between the wave rushed stones in secret 
caves, as secret times. 

And as the dew began to fall, he ran, his hair blown far and curled by 
salted air and remnants of that mornings dew. One time the day did 
dawn before the ringing of the bells and as that dawn woke me from 
my sleep, I rose to haunt the beach and there I found a different sea. 
A blanket sea with places messed from love cavorting underneath. I 
hstened closely hearing restless sighs and moving earths and watched 
as burning waves tossed beneath the wet and heavy quilt. And though 
the bells began to toll I stood and saw how one young whisper placed 
its arm about another's waist and breathed her salted breath and 
slept, and how the other saw her image in the sun and ran her fingers 
through curled and thick black mist and also slept. And then I knew 
the morning dew to be the warm and sweet rain of tired islands close 
and hot between eternities. And still the night brings youths intense 
with poetry and flashing verse, and though the wind is cool and soft 
and skies look down on silent stretches, the air is loud with heaving 
hearts and journeys sweet with song. 

So cling to the creamed and easy end 
And know the bending bool<s of time 
And lean with lending hours till your break. 
So touch the guilt of stained and gilted tears 
And place the poem in pictures standing 
In that house. 



To draw upon the sill of mind deep welled realities beyond time resolved in a fine second of 
thought by a subtle mind molded in inflection and pierced by the reflection of a morning glory 
that is, shimmering and shy crinkling in its colorful modesty, a bit like you and me. It stands 
there at dawnbreak a flower slowing swirling full face, a bud yawning in a field of shadowy, a 
simple color petal that speaks. As mist seeps brightly onto shiny faces of the morn; sun haloed 
hair sails, and warm dappled backs through tangled arms of tender grass flit and run, stop and 
grasp. Squeaking greens in our slippery grasp as a madness to uproot sears the brain, fingers 
fumble in the brown and sinking loam that soaks our skin and warms our knees. And we split 
and spear living weeds, in a whirling wish to clean and free a garden for grass. We stop and gasp. 
And wonder why we kill the weeds and where this dizzied pulling plans to stop; and it forces one 
to see that one of imagery, could not skin a flapping fish without seeing that a squirming life had 
been stopped. A butterfly of silent light love skins across a curving sky in and out of sight, love 
lingering long in sleepy bliss slowly a part of consciousness of joy acute and unsifted that frees 
all to leap, land and sink slow motioned in a cycle of blinded sight a streaking flight through a 
flowered field of airy light spraying green 
through squirming toes to rejoice. As memory 
flits through a vaseline lens of love, we gaze, 
fall, ears down towards a pulsing plain where 
sprout sprinkled lilies and tulips that are firm 

and sway to the rhythm of swing, a wind unlocks secret springs and all is a spiral of delight. 
Gently letting lucidness fly we glide through a maze of mind where shapes contain realities that 
slip and curve and are clear, shaped in place by a shot special and warm that we wish would last 
long into crisp night or autumn, where a rounded blushing cheek tingles at touch and taut legs 
skim a pavement, where tower templedomed trees that scratch the sky and sweep in grace a 
loving earth. Now, we wish to contemplate a shape. To give surface to depth of mind, to crystalize 
abstraction in a slant, a half thought in a circle, a desire baseless and large, felt but unexpressed. 
Crystals of compression gently sifted as the sands, each a piercing light when brought to sight in 
proper perspective. Teardrops of glass glisten in the rain and chimes clink, bathed in cod colored 
arcs of rainbow display. Trusted triangles stand and radiate, hourglasses curve and rectangles 
tangle at the edges. Light, pattern free, slides down the mind and filters color. A feather swirls, 
sinks, and settles softly for a second of reality and the melody of flight sings on through the chan- 
nels of hearts that rejoice. And still we mean to touch the flitting form. And time the moments 
passing slowly drifting slowly through the passing time, has but one string sound. And fantasies 

in pockets hidden deep in poet's pockets, 
lie suspended. And your dreams will quiver 
silently, and also hide in shapes of time. 

Each man dreams as he fades into the unknown. 

(to leave his work on the gutter 

to sear the lips of men 

to chisel in the mind 

to leave a progeny 

of what he feels and knows) 

Who sees the raging beauty 
of clouds shamed by sunset 
sees but a moment; not so 
who knows one great wisdom 
who loves one great love. 

Such is the legacy of the book and the rose. 


"^> .^„_ 

the compassion which i must feel the tender bitter 
struggle between my own reality the whisperingcrescen- 
do of nothingness thenoise whistling in my ear pictures- 
flowing through my mind a multiple jumble thousands 
of endless things the forces which must work and strug- 

gle inside me if i am to come out of this slowly breaking 
coccoon a poet, can neverbetaughttome. i must walk the 
streets of the world and of time in the green sun- 
drenchedfields of grass and wheat grayrain and stormed 
beaches and endless tunnels till i find myself and you 

and i mustwanderalone; $2.50 for a guided tour of 
your mind but you do not understand it is a veryprivate- 
journey i cannotbeled. your books won't help me and 
if i pickyourteemingbrain it will be empty to me. and 
yet when i resistyouroutstretched handyou snatchatme- 

youtossmeup on your high blackpolishedbootandiam- 
afraidofheights . . . 


walking leaves and 
trees tell the wind 
who belongs 
together each a part 
of the one 

he is she 

can know where 

the eyes will gaze 

in the dark 


she the he 

who loves the love 

within the one 

tomorrow talk 
of beds of grass 
and clouds of sun 
the rain will snow 
down the steps 
sounds of love 
and longing 

they kiss the palm 

of today 

which speaks the dreams 

and cries 

for love lost 

in time 

hope for they 
are not of others 
who are not 

but the grass is green 
and was green 
before they 
were thought to be 

f#- V \, 

softly colors swaying 
windows smiling almost 
laughing minds touch 
and teach the other 
happy love 



W^ •tt''S^:,n 






Come tell of the poetry within you 
Fluid, unexpressed 

of a shining moment 

that should be pressed 
As a daffodil. 

Of sights that slip through the eyes 
That mirror a soul of delight 
Of a wholeness, a split second vision 
Between the light. 
And speak in silent full tones. 
Of the round swells of a souring strain 
That stirs a purple heart. 
And weld the exquisite into one apart. 

The diversity of the works of William Butler Yeats is representa- 
tive of the myriad facets of our education. His style is the peda- 
gogue's style: clear, inspired, descriptive, dedicated, tempered with 
humor. We dedicate our faculty section to Yeats, the teacher. 

I have spread my dreams under your feel; 
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. 

William Buller Yeats 


Yeshiva Univ 


Dr. Samuel Belkin, Presi 

Charles H. Bendheim, Chairman, 
Board of Directors 

Samuel Levine, Executive Director 

Yeshiva University High School fori 
Rabbi Ab 

Yeshiva University High School for 
Rabbi Da 

Yeshiva University High School for 
Dr. Issac '. 
Martin Li 

Yeshiva University High School for 
Dr. Issac ; 
Mr. Alvin 


sity high schools 


nt Yeshiva University 

Rabbi Abraham N, Zuroff, Supervisor 

Sheldon School, Director, Student Finances 

ioys of Brooklyn 

ham N. Zuroff, Principal 

ioys of Manhattan 

d L. Weinbach, Administrator 

iirls of Manhattan 

5win, Principal, Jewish Studies Department 

cer, Administrator 

iirls of Brooklyn 

^win, Principal, Jewish Studies Department 

\amber, Administrator 


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.L'jBiro niiQ iD'^n hit ■'nm 

.13'?* 'DU'nn TioTi r« ijnin ij'7» nEon-r'i^ 

Ijmiay'? nn'ni I'yo ,n'>nnn j>i nrrn nxi "jjk ,'n mina 


:"'7'n n»K" V'^riD mnw ,Djnn n'jon njnj 'mi 'Vtr 

"UV L'inn OK ."njii'? '7y ion nnm ncsro nnrs n'B" 

nsnmn nx nV cjnj dk ."nosna n't pk nnns" Vkib' p3i 

n'HP tK ."njiff'J '7y top nnp" - tK ,n'?pnna pd'hpdh 

.n"n3 TOP njiBV Vy miaw 'n pnn 

n'^np'jT utV nj"npi •,3'?ik c"ip' nt» n'?'SP 'jki 


I'li" pljis' T'T Din 


Dear Graduates, 

It is indeed a pleasure to extend my personal greetings to you on the oc- 
casion of your graduation. 

The Class of 1968 has been blessed with many bright girls and a large num- 
ber of original thinkers with keen minds. I have seen evidence of these qualities 
in your classroom, in your extra-curricular activities, and in your yearbook — 
the Eichanette. 

The knowledge and experiences you have received at our Yeshiva will serve 
as a strong foundation in your pursuit of further knowledge in both religious 
and secular fields. Make good use of your background and capacity for criti- 
cal thinking, and become a source of pride to your families, to our Yeshiva, 
and to Klal Yisrael. 

/^C^tc^ liCc--^^ 


Rabbi Schorr, Jewish Studies 

Rabbi Rubel, Jewish Studies 

A line will take us hours maybe; 

Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought 

Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. 

I bring you with reverent hands 
The books of my numberless dreams. 


Mrs. Weichbrod, Jewish Studies 

Remembering that the best I have done 
Was done to make it plain. 

Mr. Weinstein, Jewish Studies 

And therefore, friend, if your great race were run 
And these things came, so much the more thereby 
Have you made greatness your companion. 
Although it be for children that you sigh. 


Rabbi Rosenmund, Jewish Studies 

Dr. Lichtenstein, Jewish Studies 

His element is so fine 
To drink the wine-breath 
While our gross palates drink from the 
whole wine 

That if the cannon sound 

From every quarter of the world, can stay 

Wound in mind's pondering. 

Mrs. Zaks, Jewish Studies 

And one because her hand 
Had strength that could unbind 
What none can understand. 
What none can have and thrive. 
Youth's dreamy load 

Rabbi Wichnin, Jewish Studies 

And my own tale for me shall sing, 

And my own whispering words be comforting, 

And lo! my ancient burden shall depart. 

Mrs. Wilen, English 

Mr. Marshal, French 

That is how he learnt so well 
To take the roses for his meat. 

She has not grown uncivil 
As narrow natures would 
And called the pleasures evil 
Happier days thought good; 
She knows herself a woman. 

Mr. Paley, Mathematics 

And smooth out stain and blemish 
with the elegance of his mind 

1 knew a phoenix in my youth, 
so let them have their day. 

Mrs. Beck, Typing and Stenography 

To be born woman is to know — 
Although they do not talk of it at school — 
That we must labor to be beautiful. 

Mr. Spin, Mathematics 

Mrs. Lieberman, Health Education 

A lonely impulse of delight 
Drove to this tumult in the clouds; 
I balanced all, brought all to mind 

She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs: 
But 1 was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. 


Mr. Polonsky, History 

We and the laboring world are passing by: 
Amid men's souls 

Rabbi Berenholz, Jewish Studies 

He made his soul go upward 





Ai -•!\»itx\ 


Miss Epstein, Science 

Set all your mind upon the steep ascent. 

Upon the breathless starlit air. 

Upon the star that marks the hidden pole 

Mrs. Jacobson, Art 

And pluck till time and times are done. 
The silver apples of the moon. 
The golden apples of the sun. 


Mrs. Gottleib, Jewish Studies 

Mr. Basseil, English 

We must laugh and we must sing. 
We are blest by everything. 
Everything we look upon is blest. 

I must lie down where all the ladders start, 
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart. 


Mr. Hoffman, Jewish Studies 

Miss Silver, History 

I am content to follow to its source. 
Every event in action or in thought 

She opened her door and her window 
And the heart and the soul came through 

Dr. Applbaum, English 

Truth flourishes where the student's lamp has shone 
And there alone 

Mr. Grossman, Music 

I made my song a coat 
Covered with embroideries 
Out of old mythologies 
From heel to throat 

Mrs. Spiegler, Biology 

Fix every wandering thoughL,upon 
Tliat quarter where all thought is done 

Mrs. Abrams, Arts and Crafts 
Smiling and kind, one lingered by her seat 

Mr. Ravetch, English 

Or set upon a golden bough to sing 
To lords and ladies of Byzantium 
Of what is past, or passing, or to come 

Mr. Fohr, Spanish 

Be secret and exult. 
Because of all things known 



We honor the memory of our beloved friend, Rochelle 



) r 



Rochelle Broome 


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?n''n s'/D n'H'' Dicixn tt-ipk 

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?-inD«3 i''xi....Tr !n3VT3 -y r^V-y r.!<T 'p'Ti Twy m3- mji 



Esther Balsam 

Of Life to own — 

From Life to draw — 

And never touch the reservoir— 



Gila Berkowitz 

//a//c jla vor yield — 

To Intellects inebriate 

With Summer, or the World — 

Editor-in-Chief of the Yearbooic 

Regents Scholarship 

Merit Commendation 

Captain of the High School Bowl Team 

poems: page 10, page 174, page 181 

essays: page 19, page 170 


Susan Berkowitz 

Several of Nature's People 
I know, and they know me — 
I feel for them a transport 
Of cordiality — 


Miriam Blumenfeld 

We will pry and see if she is fair 
What difference is on her Face 
From Features others wear. 


nD::n itpo ym Vnj nnjtnn D*ptoy c*n 

Leora Cohen 

The Poets light but Lamps — 
Themselves — go out — 
The Wicks they stimulate — 
If vital Light 

Inhere as do the Suns — 
Each Age a Lens 
Disseminating their 

Most Outstanding Student of the Class of 1968 

Regents Scholarship 

Literary Editor of the Yearbook 

P'eylot Co-ordinator 

short story: page 8 

poem: page 17 

Fae Ebert 

Too bright for our infirm Delight 
The Truth's superb surprise 


Beverly Finkelman 

A Charm invests a face 
Thai Image — satisfies — 


Arlene Fleischer 

Lad of A (hens, faithful be 
To Thyself. 
And Mystery — 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 
poem: page 177 


Sharon Fleischer 

To own the Art within the Soul 
The Soul to entertain 
With Silence as a Company 
And Festival maintain 

Regents Scholarship 
Hebrew Editor of the Yearbook 
Editor of the Hebrew Newspaper 
poem: page 176 


Ruth Fogel 

Advocate the Azure 
To the lower Eyes — 
He has obligation 
Who has Paradise 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 
Feature Editor of the Yearbook 
Director of the Fashion Show 
poem: page 184 


Ashira Freund 

Have you got a Brook in your little heart. 

Where bashful flowers blow. 

And blushing birds go down to drink. 


DDK) djVe' niDj? 

Deborah Friedman 

Nor was it for applause — 
That I could ascertain — 
But independent Ecstasy 
Of Deity and Men — 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 



^J \ • ■ 

Leanne Fuchs 

Wonder — is not precisely Knowing 
And not precisely Knowing not — 

Regents Scholarship 


Sandra Galler 

Argues the Aster still — 
Reasons the Daffodil 



Miriam Gershbaum 

Through what transports of Patience 
I reached the stolid Bliss 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 
Photography Editor of the Yearbook 



npi 'risty np' 'Vat d*j'js ittt mr k'' 

Sonia Glatt 

The mind was built for mighty Freight 
That all my Life had entered it 
And there was room beside 

Secretary of the General Organization 
Merit Commendation 



'jjtfilMIWl MP"" — 

Heddy Gold 

Was laughter and ability and Sighing 
And Frocks and Curls. 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 
Captain of the Cheerleaders 
Director of The Tenth Man 

^- % 


'^^ ^ 



Phyllis Goldfarb 

Soft as the massacre of Suns 
By Evening's Sabers Slain 


riD2t3 TntnBtt? nor! anr 'd'tkd Vq min nniD 

Malka Golombek 

Easiest of A rts, they say 
When one learn how 

Art Editor of the Yearbook 
Merit Commendation 


Rebecca Grussgott 

/// were half so fine myself 
I'd notice nobody! 


Anna Halberstam 

Bold little Beauty 
Bedecked with thee 
.\a t u re fo rs wears 
Antiquity — 


Rhonnie Hauser 

Swee/e/- than a vanished frolic 
From a vanished green! 
Swifter than the hoofs of Horsemen 
Round a Ledge of dream! 

Athletic Manager 


nj'1 njta-'?] n*s pine kVd 

Zelda Hempling 

A sudden expectation, 
A flying attitude! 


Ton Ke?ni myjn idtit 

Helen Hersh 

That whoso sees this little fiower 
By faith may clear behold 
The Bobolinks around the throne 
And Dandelions gold. 


Frances Hershenov 

Like her the Saints retire. 
Ill their Chapeaux of fire, 
Martial as she! 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 


Phyllis Joseph 

Glows Central — like a Jewel 
Between Diverging Golds — 


Tziporah Kahane 

/"Aa? hints without assuming — 
An Innuendo sear 

That makes the Heart put up its Fun 
And turn Philosopher. 


•\r. mjj icn: istk 

Phyllis Kaminetsky 

Luck is not chance — 
It's Toil- 
Fortune's expensive smile 
Is earned — 

Vice President of the General Organization 


Renee Katz 

S/ie staked her Feathers — Gained an A re- 
Debated — Rose again — 
This time — beyond the estimate 
Of Envy, or of Men — 

Valedictorian of the Class of 1968 
Regents Scholarship 
Merit Commendation 
Editor of the Newspaper 
Captain of the Debating Team 
essay: page 182 

nV 112;* kV T^sn "rat d*j'jsd K*n mp« 

Susan Kudowitz 

Her Labor is a Chant — 
Her Idleness — a Tune — 

Art Editor of the Yearbook 


Debra Kurzman 

The Days she stays 
A re equally supreme — 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 


Sara Kutner 

In unremitting action 
Yet never wearing out — 

Regents Scholarship 
Business Editor of the Yearbook 
Merit Commendation 
poem: page 176 


Brenda Lakser 

And an ejfaceless "Few" are lifted there- 
Nay — lift themselves — 


]n mB57t "nrr mxsn 

Sylvia Lampert 

The Thought is quiet as a Flake — 
A Crash without a Sound 


n*js iny Vy m*Kn |n mtjo 

Hattie Lasher 

//a// the joys I am to have 
Would only come today. 
They could not be as big as this 
That happens to me now. 


Mindy Lebovicz 

Exultation is the going 

Of an inland soul to sea 

Past the houses — past the headlands — 

Into deep eternity — 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 
Technical Editor of the Yearbook 
poem; page 180 


Lillian Lebovits 

fiw/ She the best Logician 
Refers my clumsy eye — 
To just vibrating Blossoms 

Business Manager of the Yearbook 


Alice Leeb 

Stiller— than the fields 
At the full Dew- 
Beautiful — as Pictures — 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 


njiK'V "ry ion mtriT no^ni nnne n's 

Celine Lemmer 

She sped as Petals of a Rose 
A frail A hslocrat of Time 

Regents Scholarship 
Secretary of Arista 


Ann Linshitz 

I check my busy pencil. 
My figii res file a way . 
Wherefore, my baffled fingers 
Thy perplexity? 


ntjsn pn 'n'yi p D*ninn pi nje^ira 

Betty Listhaus 

Whatever Flower fail to come 
Of other Summer days 
Her crescent reimburse 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 
poem: page 172 


HE'DJ nnjp nj'it noan miy 

Eve Locker 

September's Baccalaureate 

Regents Scholarship 
Merit Commendation 


n'?''? 1313 nTS3t njnV^ ns* 

Ita Mairanz 

The words the happy say 
Are paltry melody 
But those the silent feel 
Are beautiful — 


Livia Mappa 

Some Rainbow — coining from the Fair! 
Some Vision of the World Cashmere — 
/ confidently see! 


Ann Margulies 

She has not lived who has not felt — 
poem; page 14 


noyj not n's* no 

Zivia Mermelstein 

What Soft — Cherubic Creatures- 
These Gentlewomen are — 


Renee Morgenstern 

n D*D TtpD 

Who ponders this tremendous scene — 
This whole Experiment of Green — 
As if it were her own! 

Regents Scholarship 

English Editor of the Yearbook 

Merit Commendation 

Director of The Man Who Came to Dinner 



Brenda Muschel 

Sufficient for my Own 
And here and there a Benefit 
Unto a Neighbor's Bin 


Arlene Neuman 

There is no Diligence like that 
That knows not an Until — 


HDK Vah njTin ni2?Hi H'ik not'n nnan ni 

Miriam Neumann 

Many Sciences, 

Pursued by learned Angels 

In scholastic skies! 

Finalist for the Merit Scholarship 

Regents Scholarship 

Captain of Hebrew High School Bowl Team 


Judy Nulman 

And perch my tongue 
On Twigs of singing 

Athletic Manager 
Leader of the Choir 


Yona Ovitz 

Her cheek Is her Biographer — 
As long as she can blush 


Brenda Pachtman 

By Chivalries as tiny, 

A Blossom, or a Book 

The seeds of smiles are planted- 

Which blossom in the dark. 

Regents Scholarship 


313?D ']^D2 --DnST niTDQ ■>2^ 
Sandra Padawer 

Roses of a steadfast summer 
In a steadfast land 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 
Vice President of Arista 


hjVtd Vy n*Vy nxt V*n i^y niJi njii 

Cookie Rabinowitz 

Oj Industry and Morals 
And every righteous thing 

President of Arista 
P'eylot Co-ordinator 


npn px njtij iV inn? poTyV fiKj iiiV d^de? 

Hannah Rabinowitz 

You'll know her — as you know 'tis Noon — 

By Glory^ 

As you do the Sun — 

By Glory— 

Regents Scholarship 
Leader of the Choir 


Judith Rabinowitz 

Where melody is not 

Is the unknown peninsula. 

Beauty is nature's fact. 

Captain of the Cheerleaders 
Director of the Fashion Show 


Toba Rabinowitz 

The Outer— from the Inner 
Derives its Magnitude — 

Regents Scholarship 


ne'« nnn mxen inn 

Ita Ringel 

Estates of violet trouble ne'er looked on! 
Captive! We bring reprieve of roses! 


Vnn Vi"? *J3 n'BM n*js T«n he'x noDn 

Cheryl Ritter 

To fetch Her Grace — and Hue — 
And Fairness — and Renown — 

Regents Scholarship 

Co-Editor of Hebrew Newspaper 

Merit Commendation 


Gloria Rosen 

Z,e/ change transfuse all other Traits 
Enact all other Blame 
But deign this least certificate — 
That thou shalt be the same. 


Joyce Rosenbaum 

Is always as the contents 
But give a Giant room 
And you will lodge a Giant 
And not a smaller man 

President of the General Organization 
Merit Commendation 


pcTL T^'Ni, nnjwT iiiiricn i'fqj 

Reva Rosenman 

Within that little Hive 
Such Hints oj Honey lay 


Francine Rosenzweig 

To own her for a Friend 

A warmth as near as ij the Sun 

Were shining in your Hand. 


|n ne?«t nVnc'o hb'k 'no 

Hannah Rothstein 

All the letters I can write 
A re not fair as this — 
Syllables of Velvet — 
Sentences ol Plush, 
Depths of Ruby, undrained, 

Regents Scholarship 
Co- Editor of the Literary Magazine 
Merit Commendation 
short story: page 12 



D'pnyn nj^rte' pirn nV^nn 

Sharon Schachter 

The Definition oj Beauty is 
That Definition is none — 


Esther Schattner 

Compassion for Integrity ■ 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 
President of the Service Society 


Ghana Scheinberg 

Superiority to Fate 
Is difficult to gain 
■ Tis not conferrer of A ny 
But possible to earn 


Rowena Schonfeld 

Elysium is as far as to 

The very nearest Room 

If in that Room a Friend awaits 


Dale Schwartz 

The Firmainental Lilac 
Upon the Hill tonight— 


Brocha Shapiro 

Because my Brook is Silent 
II is the Sea — 


Libby Sharfman 

She squanders on your Ear 
Such Arguments of Pearl — 

Treasurer of the General Organization 


Ellen Simon 

Yesterday, and Today, 

Her vestments as the silver fleece — 

Her countenance as spray. 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 


r.2 i:5iE: ncKT Ton 

Leba Sprung 

A Mien to move a Queen — 
A voice that Alters — Low 



Judy Storch 

There is no Frigate like a Book 
To take us Lands away 
Nor any Courses like a Page 
Of prancing Poetry — 

Regents Scholarship 
Merit Commendation 


Chumi Taub 

Gay little Heart — 

Like Morning Glory! 

Wind and Sun^wilt thee array! 

Regents Scholarship 

Typing Editor of the Yearbook 

Leader of the Choir 


Zelda Tauber 

Makes a world's suspense 
Perish and rejoice. 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 
Photography Editor of the Yearbook 


rutin p*2n hk^x] no^n nx^io nrs *te'K 

Norma Topola 

y4 word dropped careless on a Page 
May stimulate an eye 

Regents Scholarship 

Editor of the Literary Magazine 




Edythe Tropper 

/« Cave if I presumed to hide 
The Walls — begun to tell — 
Creation seemed a mighty Crack — 
To make me visible — 



And she will fling her maddest perfume- 
Haply — your Summer night to Charm- 



Rachel Unreich 

Glowing is her Bonnet 
Glowing is her Cheek 


Anna Wakszul 

Crowns of Life are servile Prizes 
To the stately Heart 



Ilona Waltman 

Exhilaration — is within — 
There can no Outer Wine 
So royally intoxicate 
As that diviner Brand 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 

Feature Editor of the Yearbook 

Director of The Man Who Came to Dinner 


Evelyn Wasserstrom 

The Daisy follows soft the Sun — 
And when her golden walk is done — 
Sits shyly at his feet — 

Regents Scholarship 



Charlene Weinstein 

Whh thoughts that make for Peace — 


Sara Weintraub 

Fast in a safer hand 
Held in a truer Land 

Regents Scholarship 


Sarah Weiss 

/ hide myself within my flower 
That Jading from your Vase, 
You, unsuspecting, feel for me— 
Almost a loneliness. 

Co-Editor of the Yearbook 
Regents Scholarship 

poems: page I, page 7 
short story: page 5 


Sharon Weiss 

There's Basis there — 

Thai searches Human Nature's creases 

As clean as Fire. 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 
Director of The Tenth Man 


Sharon Wiedenbaum 

/ wait ihy far. fantastic bells — 
Announcing me In other dells — 
Unto the different dawn! 


Susan Wollman 

And Bells keep saying " Victory" 
From steeples In my soul! 


Rebecca Zaifman 

Could go from scene familiar 
To an uniraversed spot — 
Could contemplate the journey 
With unpuzzled heart — 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 


Elayne Zuroff 

A Revelry unspeakable 
And then a gay unknown 

Alternate Regents Scholarship 



We dedicate diversions to e. e. cummings because his 
poetry represents the clarity, modernity, and awareness 
with which we view our world. 

this is the garden: colours come and go, 
absolute lights like baths of golden snow 

e. e. cummings 





literary editor leora cohen 
feature editor ruth fogel 

hebrew editor sharon fleischer 

business manager lillian lebovits 
photography editor zelda tauber 

art editor susan kudowitz 




english editor renee morgenstern 

feature editor ilona waltman 

typing editor nechama taub 

business manager sara kutner 

photography editor miriam gershbaum 

art editor malka golombek 



General Organization 

Treasurer Libb\ Sharfman 
Vice President Phyllis Kaminetzky 
Secretar} Sonia Glatt 
President Jouce Rosenbaum 


^* . ' 




• '^ 

"" Lapid ' ^itmvi" ' im jji.m » n 

Editor-in-Chief Sharon Fleischer 





— -' — • 




Advisor Rabbi S. Rubel 
President Cheryl Rabinowitz 
Vice President Sandra Padawer 
Secretary Celine Lemmer 


The Tide 

Editor Norma Topola 
Co-editor Hannah Rothstein^ 

Captain Renee Katz 

"'"tm'^'»» » ^'» 

r». *" 










n ' 


'^ 1 

u 1 

5 i 













Hebrew High School Bowl 

Captains Miriam Neumann 
Cheryl Ritler 







#-«..: ■ t* 




.^*W*'»» *♦,>»»» 


» - > ■/ .A. 

\W t} 1 1 " I • ■ 






'4J>i '«S,-^ 

?■*' ^Lm-:,. 





including . . . basketball (shown) 

Athletic manager Judy Nulman 







Captains Lucy Fixler 

Perele Handler 





it is a time of sorrow and a time of ecstasy, 
we learn more than the mechanics of life, more 
than the addition and subtraction of facts, we 
are taught the why through our religion the how 
through our education, but we perceive the where 
of our existence through our own initiative, we 
are not lauded by the world, too busy to empa- 
thize with those who people her. yet, with the 
thrust of our basketballs and the conclusions of 
our debates, we have dammed for a while the riv- 
ers of time, we were not amongst the first to 
liberate Jerusalem, not among the heroes to fall 
for our nation, but we were among the thousands 
who picketed the u.n. we were among the mul- 
titudes that rallied in Washington, in this 
too, there is pride. 


when serpents bargain for the right to squirm 
and the sun strikes to gain a living wage 
when thorns regard their roses with alarm 
and rainbows are insured against old age 

when every thrush may sing no moon in 
if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice 
— and any wave signs on the dotted line 
or else an ocean is compelled to close 

when the oak begs permission of the birch 
to make the acorn — valleys accuse their 
mountains of having altitude — and march 
denounces april as saboteur 

then we'll believe in that incredible 
unanimal mankind (and not until) 

e. e. cummings 


nOlKH jTB? npyT ,1335? '3:1 TpyT 

dVtd TD'rn sa^jV ,T3-'nK td'^h xds*? 
!Dyn '^n riTyV t3'33 td'th Knx*? 

D7TD IK"-' lyynn ,13'' TK iKV' lysca 

DWE3:n cm-n ,T3-ip 2.'>: nz mp-* 
!Dyn ■'3Z nipn ,T3riipn s'k rcV 

dhdrVd mi? rciN Vy ,T3"'K3iii' hk dw Tns3 

Dcipn r.'z i«"T 


DHciK *np "jy i3'7n bmn Tnf<.ia 

m « 


gyn '3a»«z^i T3n3''iD nspirn 






>* • 

Nor swarthy nor aquiline profile but a certain sad wis- 
dom about the eyes labels you Jew. 

With torn heels travelling desolate unwanted roads 
through journeys never sought I travel. I raise my arms 
to Your clasp, I shall not fall. The folk who dwell in 
stone towers on the roadside laugh to see an old fool 
trudging with bloody feet and hand outstretched into the 
night grasping at nothing. And the men who dream at the 
side of the road dig deeper into the soil and found their 
towers in rock and proclaim that they are strong. And 
they tell their sons "Men are blind and they cannot see 
the light"; but there is no light. 

I build my house on the road and leave the windows open 
that all who pass may halt and listen to the voices of 
angels expounding the law divine. I gird my house with 
fences of jasper and pave the courtyard with chalcedony. 
The men who live in towers of stone come to touch its 
ivory walls. They sense the fragrance of lavender drift- 
ing through the windows. They feel warmth through the 
walls, yet enter will they not. For he who crosses my 
portals may not eat the flesh of his brother, and human 
meat is sweet. So they leave the hostel of knowledge 
taking with them as tokens of their visit green peaches 
that grow between the gates. 

As they covet what is mine I lust for what is theirs. To 
sow seeds in my fathers soil to brush against the soft 
grass. But I must build houses in the center of the road. 
They have razed my palace but the secret glory in its 
cellars has escaped into the wind like the shadows of the 
dead. And You, You lead me through canyons filled with 
screaming demons. You flay my body with steel. You've 
unleashed Your furies to murderers, giving leave to 
scourge my children. I stand in the sextagon of the un- 
revenged; my blood cries out for the sword. Make a 
covenant with me and I will seal it with my soul. Dress 
me in robes of silk, heal my wounds. End this road which 
creates itself a span for every step I tread. Build me a 
kingdom without highways, anoint me to a priesthood 
without tithes and I will transcend despair and bitter- 
ness, I will declare Your words in the burning ears of 
seraphim and what is greater — in the hearts of men. 




.mymn nn^K cy pncen obik in 

oViyn Vy ■i"»'»nD cs^sa T2£T3 ^dtd 

D© lanro ypVvi/1 D'Daa nDia n^TD 

Van '35 'PD 'ry nVsKn pVn u 

iQK p'nc pin-) n*?"''?:! K~np pi^'n 

.D-'QTiDn nV ly oyn npyi nViyi 

?Dnyc2' nV' nD"»K ,'»r!y '>22 C!)*? d'jts 

''ir'»K-i nV nD^K ,'s~)K p^22 pV c^'v 

D3n '727 in nn3N jDD'hk myzM nyoT 

,Dn~nn nth n^n jOn-^n Kin iv^inn 


p j'n nnjn 



ntsnn i\ 

oyt r V 

niann n 




?n'?ynj *3 
lytan • 

nor' li: 
nonj Kin ttj 

p^ 'Tan HE'ti'? 
on nVsjT rty-i3 

* «•? mpy nrK 

Ti I t 'X ni DK 

e'ni n] *bb nn 
jK nj^ae' njnn 

n nVty JniDno 
a« pn no nati 

'DTP "ID«* »D 

'DTP ^DK' *D 

» D'D VtTJ D8 

3D I'Vi pDn^ 

•jroK? '?yn iTy 

T"s ni n^TniV 



.Tixn iTi'ar n'pTyi ypi3 
V'^^nn yno/: cynn mK3n 

^"iin Ty-*-)-! 1132'? n-iK 
.D'33-i -nnn ti?5t-» nifn 

m"»a; rsiit crrtp Vi^td 

1133 n"'-i"'a? VdV 

n3''iQn a?S3i ncn\n n*?a 

.-iTKn aiw n'piy ,~iDTr) .n-ni 

My shifel 

^>_, ,bcr:'^ I'M' 
'June 5. 1061 

•.**£■' Wf-V '.•^•** . 



•*?>" •'- 


S* '^ '*r ' 

^..t^WsWl^iffi*'-* ^ '* -^ 




■ f?*iS**l':;- -r ■''■"".■■ 




You hate the war, go demonstrate 
Raise your painted posters high 
Sit-in at Whitehall, don't be shy 
The cops might beat you once or twice 
(to add perchance romantic spice) 





and all our fighters men, 
the dove would tangle in my hair, 
Spanish pears on chinaware, 
childhood's laughter not so sere 
soft and clear again. 

WBSm all our j 


mm all our jam's in gasoline 
and all our gas is jelled. 

P^ half and half we're split 
P within the land. 

Quarter to the right hand, quarter to the left hand, 
Ind half the nation grinds the issues in the sand. 
\e brave men all are felled. 

% % % 

I wish there were something new to be said about civil 
rights, about poverty, about interracial relations. Yet 
everytime a new book or article appears, it seems like 
just another rehash of the same old phrases. And it's 
more than just redundant verbage — the problems them- 
selves seem ancient, eternal, as indeed the\ are. But we 
are young and pretend that time has no meaning for us; 
we build sandcastles in the hourglass. We look at the 
helpless young and the hopeless old and we are prompted 
to action by their condition. 

We feel pity and act accordingly. That's our problem; 
we should be acting from feelings of justice. Justice is a 
bitter pill to swallow, it requires a sense of responsibil- 
ity. Real justice is not pity — and not guilt feelings, 
either. Emotionalism hasn't worked, we have to juggle 
with the facts. Along with discrimination and poverty 
we must eliminate unfairness on every side. When the 
tumor is removed a gaping hole should not remain to let 
the patient bleed to death. The skilled surgeon sutures 
the veins. 


T'-'n '>3~\12 I'-wCD DIKH 

T> r 1 s? ■> "i ■"::! m'zrz o'-iyn rnDn 
.T'-'i'n Tiicn HKii k':' nth '";XT 

V-'Di'n'? ,vi?"'l-|n'7 T312V"' ■"" 

?'7-'in nam myom '>^2~] nx 

D"'o''n riyi''o i^'p-'i-' 'd 

?L'»-iT TT^yv^T L'Tn rniDD